In Vlad's Dreams
by SBHY01
Summary: In which business is more important to Mr. Masters than the Fentons. What does Vlad wish for most? Why, to be a normal half-ghost, forty year old billionaire, of course. Illogical, improbable, and also just a guess on my part.
1. Chapter 1

I watched in silence from paneled tinted windows as the moon grew, floating largely just above the forest tree canopy that surrounded the limousine on both sides of the road. Leaning back in the leather seat, I loosened my tie and briefly allowed my mind to drift from business to the party. After-parties are never too much fun. You stand there stiffly, with a plastered smile, champagne in hand, forcing yourself to converse with other stiff, graying men. Most of them have wives hanging off of them like jewelry, which serves as a constant reminder of what you know you'll never have.

Well, that's how _I_ feel about them, at any rate. When we pulled in to the driveway, I hopped out of the car and felt around my blazer for my wallet.

"George?" I questioned in the dark—I had forgotten to turn on the front lights before I left again. George, my driver, rounded the hood of the car and I extended my hand to him. He took it, ready to give it a firm shake, but paused when he felt the rough edges of the paper.

"For staying late tonight," I explained before turning and brusquely walking to the front door. I didn't pause when he thanked me, but waited until I heard the car pull out of the gates to phase through the front door.

Contrary to popular belief, I like living alone. It's quiet; and a serene environment is suitable for paperwork—which, although I hired at least three secretaries, I always somehow find myself doing most of the time. I debated for a minute whether I should make myself a hot tea or call it a night and get some rest. Eventually, I decided I was too tired for hot drinks, poured myself a glass of water, and tiredly made my way to the master bedroom. I didn't realize just how tired talking to boring, pompous old men really made me until I found myself almost nodding off as I brushed my teeth. I quickly jumped into bed and turned out the lights with a sigh—my life is one big loop; tomorrow would surely be a new day, but there was no doubt it would be almost exactly the same. In fact, it might even be worse, what with the shrinking economy. I allowed my mind again to wander….

----

I woke with a start when I heard a clatter from downstairs. That's another advantage of living alone; when you're alone, any noise made either comes from you or a burglar. I threw the covers away from me and grabbed the flashlight from my bedside table.

Phasing invisibly through the ceiling to the foyer on the main floor, I searched for any sign of movement. I turned on the flashlight and wildly circled the room.

I almost jumped when I heard the noise again, twice as loud, but just as muffled. The noise was coming from downstairs. From my lab.

I again invisibly sunk through the floor to the private library below. I pulled the football trophy on the mantle of the fireplace and collected myself in the few moments it took for the wall to slide away.

"Who's there?" I called unwaveringly as I searched the room, almost surprised by how awake I had forced myself to sound.

In response, a stifled, drawn out groan sounded from behind the operating table, in front of the glowing portal. I was there in an instant, intent on catching the rouge ghost and throwing its beaten hide back into the Ghost Zone. I was not even close to being prepared for what I actually found.

Daniel Fenton, in striped blue shredded pajamas was sprawled on the floor, staining it with blood. He hadn't even made it entirely through the portal; his left foot was hidden by the swirling green screen. For a moment, I imagined what it must look like from inside the Ghost Zone—a human foot jutted unmoving out of an open portal—but I quickly shook myself back to reality.

"Daniel?" I gasped, but my surprise went unanswered. Daniel was unconscious—I assumed by the puddle of red from blood loss.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the kid by his underarms and pulled him to his feet. His head rolled back like a deadweight and he wouldn't stand on his own, so, groaning in exertion, I dragged him to the operating table. He still didn't move, so I backed away and studied his unconscious form. Most of the blood was leaking from a wound on his slashed middle, but for the most part, I assumed a major contributing factor of his current state was just exhaustion. Who had he picked a fight with this time?

I am no doctor, but seeing as I did have an entire roll of gauze in a lab drawer, I decided it would be best to just patch the boy up and leave him alone. I gingerly lifted the shreds of his bloodied button up shirt and washed away some of the blood with a little antiseptic. The bandaging took the longest damn time, and by the time Daniel was mostly patched up, I was sweating from the exertion.

I would have stayed until he woke to question him, but my eyelids were growing even heavier. I barely had the strength to fly back to my room. By the time I hit the sheets, I was far gone.

---

I groaned when I felt someone prodding my shoulder and rolled over, covering my head with the duvet in the process.

"Vlad?" a voice wavered, and my eyes jolted open when I realized who it was.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, still too tired to think clearly. "Do you have any idea what time it—" I stopped myself when I caught sight of the clock. It was nine-thirty. I had slept in late. Looking the boy over, I almost blanched. He was still just as dirty as I had left him. Dry blood caked his clothes and bruises that had formed spotted his face. "Oh," I said simply before rubbing my eyes again to clear away the grogginess.

"I wanted a chance to say thank you," he said in a cracking, hoarse voice, and I could only guess how much of it he had wasted screaming in pain yesterday.

"Listen," I growled, getting out of bed on the side opposite him. "Don't tell me what happened; I'm too tired to care. Just take a shower and go home."

The boy visibly paled. "I don't want to go home—not yet."

I started to sigh, but I ended with a yawn. "And why ever not?" I asked snidely, brushing past him to grab my watch from the bathroom counter. I buckled it quickly around my wrist and read the time again. Nine thirty six.

"My parents," he whispered in response. "They…caught me."

I abruptly turned back to face him. "You're kidding," I growled, but he shook his head. "Did they find out?"

"No…," he sighed. "I escaped. I came here."

Without a response, I turned my back on him once more to splash my face with water from the sink. As I dried myself with the hand towel, he spoke again.

"Would it be okay…," he hesitated, "if, uh, I had breakfast?"

I found myself rolling my eyes again. Was my little "sworn enemy" really imposing himself upon me?

I faced him once more and looked him over. A week ago, I would have jumped at a chance like this. But recently, things had been falling into perspective. My mind had been occupied the entire week by the shrinking economy. I had to smuggle most of my assets to a bank outside of the Americas. I had even paid off a newspaper about ruin my entire reputation by printing an article insinuating that I was involved in a ponzi scheme. As I looked at the boy, _really_ looked at the boy, I felt something inside my chest snap a little. He just…wasn't what I wanted anymore.

"Take a shower first," I retorted before grabbing my robe and slipping it on over my pajamas. I walked past him out the door, leaving him standing stupidly just outside my bathroom.

I had him shower in the guest room—I had just had my maid clean _my_ shower—while I dug through my drawers to find clothes that would fit him. I couldn't recall a time when I had ever been as skinny as he was. Finally, I found in the bottom drawer of my dresser, a shrunken white cotton tennis v-neck shirt and shorts. The shorts would still be much too large, so I grabbed one of my cheaper belts and placed it neatly on the folded clothes. I left the clothes by his door before descending to the kitchen. As I stuffed some toast into the toaster and boiled some tea, I read the paper, only subconsciously realizing just how involved I had become in my business. I shut my eyes in depression. The DOW had fallen several more hundred points.

I set the paper down when I heard Daniel approach. It was all I could do not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked in my baggy shirt and shorts.

"Thanks for the clothes, Vlad," he said with a faltering, half-hearted smile. I had obviously been his last resort—he clearly resented the fact he was here.

Grunting in response, I grabbed the toast and threw it on a plate. Along with some jars of jam and a knife, I set it down on the kitchen table. I was too tired to eat anything and more than too tired to actually cook, otherwise I would have made flapjacks for the kid.

"Eat," I ordered when he looked uncertain whether the food was for him or not. He smiled and began stuffing his face when I returned my attention back to the paper.

I sighed when the doorbell rang. I left the boy to his breakfast and opened the door, slightly blinded by the rays of the morning sun. It took me several moments to see who it was.

"Maddie?" This day was certainly full of surprises.

"Vlad," she said, clearly distressed. "Have you seen Danny?"

I regarded her with a frown. "Well…."

"You have to help me!" She grabbed the lapel of my robe in desperation. "I haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon; I have no idea where he could be!"

"Mom?" I heard Danny gasp from behind me and I spun. He stood in the kitchen doorway with a half-eaten piece of toast in hand.

"Danny!" she cried, elated, running at the boy with open arms.

Danny was clearly at a loss for what to do. He was afraid of his mother, but at the same time, she had no idea about his secret identity. I, of course, watched in silence as the scene unfolded.

"Get away from me!" Danny finally yelped, ducking from her embrace and running behind me to hide.

"Danny, what—?" Maddie was confused by her son's behavior.

That was when I realized it—that feeling that I normally felt when I saw Maddie, that twinge in my heart when I heard her voice, her hold over me—it was all gone. Disappeared, like it had never been. Was this a miracle or was it a terrible occurrence? Was it temporary, or was I really over the woman I've loved for years? I knew it had to only be temporary—I would never just "get over" the woman who broke my heart, but for now, I supposed I was too consumed by other things to remember just how much I loved her, and I seized the opportunity to finally be mature.

"There, there, Daniel," I said with a forced chuckle, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder. "Your mother has done nothing wrong. Why don't you go home now?"

Danny looked at me with a startled expression. I supposed I must have taken him by surprise—ordinarily, I would never have let him or his mother leave.

"But—" he stuttered, looking from me to his mother. He had clearly expected me to defend him, to tell Maddie that he should stay until he felt comfortable leaving.

"Danny," Maddie cooed, "come on, you can tell me what's wrong, sweetie."

"Go on, now," I said, giving him a little push. He stumbled a little, but since I was of no use to him anymore, he made his way to his mother, embracing her in a hug.

As much as I loved watching this display of affection…I actually didn't. "Maddie, dear, I really must be getting to work, and you should be getting home to your family," I said, trying to hurry them out the door.

"Thank you for taking care of him, Vlad," Maddie said, giving me a peck on the cheek before exiting the house. It was so strange—I didn't even blush. Devoid of any emotion, I just watched her go.

Danny was right behind her, but before he closed the door behind him, he spared me one last look of utter confusion.

I stared at the door for a minute or two before deciding to get back to my paper. A strange sense of happiness and relief washed over me, even as I read about the stock market. I felt like maybe I was finally over the Fentons.

---

Rays of sunlight peaked through the half-closed blinds of the stark white room, resting in neat rows of gold peacefully on the foot of the bed. Danny looked down at the bed dejectedly, Sam and Tucker flanking his sides.

"He looks…," the boy began, his saddened blue eyes closing as he searched for the correct word.

"Peaceful?" Sam finished for her friend.

Danny sighed, opening his eyes and looking at her in gratitude. "Yeah. Peaceful." He sat down on a black plastic chair underneath the window, fingering the cord of the blinds. "I just feel so…terrible."

Sam and Tucker were instantly by his side.

"You shouldn't, dude," the techno-geek comforted, staring openly at the unconscious figure.

"It wasn't your fault," Sam provided, rubbing the boy's shoulder affectionately. "It was his in the first place for starting the fight."

"Yeah," Danny nodded half-heartedly, "but I was the one who shot him down. He hit his head because of me."

"Danny, it was you or him," the goth girl declared. Pointedly, she added, "It could have been you."

Danny rubbed his face as if to relieve his guilt, but otherwise didn't reply.

"Besides, who knows what he's dreaming about," Tucker smirked, always the optimist. "He probably has everything he wants."

"He's a billionaire," Sam commented dryly.

"Yeah, but he could be dreaming that he has a wife and kids, or something," the techno-geek laughed animatedly. "He's probably really happy."

Danny chuckled at his friend. "Yeah, and when he wakes up, he'll see the error of his ways and be a better person."

Sam joined her friends in laughter. "It's not that bad," she said with a smile, referring to Vlad's head wound. "He'll wake up, soon, Danny, you'll see."

Danny stood up. "Come on, guys we gotta get to school," he said, glancing at his watch. Sam and Tucker left the room, Danny right behind them, his guilt partially relieved. He closed the hospital room door, but not without one wondering glance at the older half-ghost. What could Vlad be dreaming about?

* * *

:Looks around nervously: So, uh, first fanfic in this fandom. I hope you like it! :Runs away:


	2. Chapter 2

"Yes, you always dream unless you are a complete vegetable, but even then you probably can still dream, it's just hard to detect on an EEG. Many coma patients remember their dreams… it's almost eerie to hear them talk about it. Some dream of their past, some dream about the afterlife....crazy isn't it?"

-SadToday22, Yahoo! Answers

* * *

I woke to a steady beeping, each beep about three seconds apart. My eyes felt as though they had been glued shut and it took an eternity to open them. I blinked up at a white ceiling and slid into a sitting position with a groan. My head felt like it had been struck with a hammer. White walls surrounded me all sides. Bedside tables with drooping flowers closed off my bed. I was in a single-patient hospital room, all alone. Feeling confident, I drew my legs close and swung them over the side of the bed, prepared to carry my own weight. I slowly slid out of the bed, hesitantly checking to see if my legs would hold me. I stood, swaying.

There were three brown plastic chairs sitting beneath a blinded window. The sun was bright. Door hinges squeaked. I spun.

"Mr. Masters!" A nurse in standard green scrubs let folded sheets drop from her arms. "You're awake!"

I blinked at her blearily. "What happened?"

"You must sit down," she ordered, crossing the room. She pushed me down onto the bed.

"I want to get up," I said.

"Your brain needs blood—you shouldn't stand so fast after being in bed for two months," she said.

"Two months?" I echoed blandly.

"Tell me if this hurts," she said, peeling some gauze from my scalp.

I winced and repeated, "Two months?"

"That's right. Do you remember how you hit your head?"

I only looked up at her, a blank expression on my face.

"A young boy—bless his heart—called in about nine weeks ago saying that you had suffered a massive head wound," she said with a warm smile. "They found you in your living room. You must have fallen."

My mind was processing her words at a very slow rate.

"A man of your age shouldn't be living alone," she continued. "We don't want something like this to happen again."

"I'm not _that_ old," I said, my mind reeling in rebuttal. I really wasn't that old.

"You do look very young for being in your seventies," the woman commented, throwing the dirty gauze away. "You've aged very well."

My eyes boggled. "Seventies?" I said. "I'm forty-three!"

Her eyebrows furrowed and she bent down at the foot of my bed to pick up my charts. "Your history indicates that you haven't been to a hospital in a very long time. The last hospital on your records was demolished five years ago by flooding. I guess they lost your charts," she said. "So we contacted the boy who had you brought to the hospital if he knew how old you were." She blinked. "He sounded pretty confident."

"You took that daft boy's word?" I asked.

"We have no other method of determining your age," she said.

I shook my head weakly. "I must be getting home."

"What? Oh, no, Mr. Masters," she said. "You really should stay and finish your treatment."

I stood, stopping her protests with a swift hand motion. "I'll be fine."

She shook her head vehemently. "Really, I—"

"I have to be getting home," I said, cutting her off. I brushed awkwardly past her to find my clothes neatly folded on a counter. I grabbed them and disappeared into the bathroom.

--

Tightening my tie, I marched down the hallway, greeting nurses and doctors alike with a sharp nod.

"Masters, checking out," I said to the front desk receptionist.

She typed my name with swift fingers into the computer. Scrunching her eyes, she said, "Masters? It says here that you're not supposed to check out until you've been treated by the doctor."

I sighed. "And when does the doctor arrive?"

She looked at me. "Dr. Terrance isn't on call until tomorrow."

"I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check, my dear," I said and turned and walked away before she could say anything more.

I burst through the double doors and rounded the corner of the hospital into the back alley. There, in a flash of black light, I powered up my ghost half. I felt power and static charge course through my body with a refreshing tingle, but it did not last long. I swayed and, catching myself on the brick exterior of the hospital with a grasping hand, the two rings encircled me once more, leaving me with only my human half. I was still woozy from medication and a splitting headache was pounding on my skull.

I grunted in pain and grabbed my head in one hand to steady it on my shoulders. With my other, I reached for my cell phone.

"George?" I said, my voice weak.

"Mr. Masters?" he answered.

"I'm at the hospital"—I winced as my own voice worsened my headache—"please, come pick me up as soon as you can."

"Yes, sir," he said. "Right away, sir."

--

"I didn't think you'd be out of the hospital so soon, sir."

George helped me into the back seat, making sure I didn't fall. "I didn't, either, George," I said through clenched teeth.

He said nothing, but closed the door after I had pulled my legs inside the limousine.

"Can you," I asked after he had rounded the car and entered it from the driver's seat, "possibly tell me what happened?"

I saw him glance at me from the rear view mirror. "What happened, sir?"

"I don't remember much…," I said.

He nodded. "Well, I believe you were watching your nephew while his parents were at work," he said. "I think you tripped and hit your head on the coffee table."

I closed my eyes and tried to remember it. All I could picture were flashes of green and red, a particularly expensive Persian rug, and one of my favorite vases lying shattered on the floor. "In the living room?"

"I believe so," George said. "I hope you don't mind—I called the maid to come in early. There was blood, you see."

I gingerly felt around my scalp for the bump I knew was sitting like a ludicrous hat upon my head. "Blood? Oh, George, I cannot thank you enough."

We sat in silence until we pulled into the familiar driveway. My home looked the same as ever on the outside. The grass was freshly mown, the bushes just trimmed. "Home sweet home," I said, passing George a fifty. He took it with a bowed head and a "thank you" and drove away with the abrasive sound of wheels on asphalt.

I opened the door with the keys in my pocket and stood in the doorway, breathing in the familiar scent of my home: freshly baked bread and sugar.

Of course, I rarely cooked, but I always had baskets delivered every week from the local Amity Park bakery. I found ten baskets full of sugary treats and Danishes lined one after the other on the kitchen counter and sighed. The old baskets looked stale and I would never be able to eat all the still-fresh ones.

I sighed. I didn't know what was compelling me, but I had the strangest urge to deliver them to the Fentons. I knew they would need them more than I; though I'm sure they always had food on the table, they weren't exactly well enough off to support the indulgences I was able to.

And a small part of me wanted to see Daniel's face when he realized I was out of the hospital. It was, I assumed, his fault I had been there in the first place. Since I had already sent George away, I realized I would have to drive myself there. In several minutes, I had picked out my least favorite SUV for the job; it wouldn't matter to me if that bumbling oaf Jack Fenton smashed it to smithereens, like I knew he would. I sat down, trying to recall how to use it. I had only driven it once; when I had taken it out for a test drive the day I bought it. Eventually, I had the motor purring underneath me and the gas pedal giving way to my foot.

Midway to the Fenton's house, my vision grew blurry. I squinted against my headache, but that only made it worse. I was dizzy and I didn't know if I remembered the way to the Fenton Works. The edges of buildings became distorted. I passed intersection after intersection, scanning road signs and searching for that obnoxious neon sign.

I ended up rear ending a small, blue, Honda stopped at the intersection of Specter and Seventh. The airbag deployed. My head ricocheted off of it back into the headrest and I bit back a cry of pain. I panicked when the owner of the blue car opened their door and stepped out. Despite the screaming protest my head gave me, I phased, invisible out of my seatbelt and, grabbing both baskets in the trunk and the license plate off of the car, found steady ground on the sidewalk. Discreetly becoming visible again several feet away, I watched the owner of the Honda tap on the tinted window of my car and peer inside. When she received no response, she tapped harder and pulled out her cell phone.

I left her and my car there. I had suddenly remembered that Maddie's house was only a few blocks away, on Specter and Thirteenth. I strolled uneasily down the street, fighting my nausea. By the time I made it to their door, everything was blurring again. When I rang their bell, I had tunnel vision. I dropped the baskets and stumbled around on the welcome mat. Danishes and candy rolled around my feet. The door opened.

I could barely hear his voice. Daniel's innocent blue eyes gazed up at me, wide with surprise.

"Vlad?" I saw him say.

Then his mouth opened into a wide arc. He was yelling.

It hit me all at once. I could hear noises again, and his scream pounded against my skull with a terrible force.

Maddie was there in an instant. At first she looked surprised, but then she helped me inside and had her children pick up the Danishes I had dropped. They scooped them up and dropped them unceremoniously into the baskets, destroying the perfect, organized order they had been sitting in.

"Why aren't you in the hospital?" Maddie's voice was horrified and raspy.

"I'm fine," I said. My teeth were clenched again. "I assure you. I just wanted to drop off the baskets."

She looked me over, her purple eyes scrunched with worry in a way that I thought I had found attractive. "You look terrible, Vlad!"

I frowned, unable to look away from the creases that marred the outer corners of her eyes. "Thank you, my dear," I said sarcastically, my words slurring a little because I was so exhausted. I hoped I didn't sound drunk.

"You need to take some pain relievers," she said, standing up to leave me. "I'll go make tea."

I nodded, closing my eyes.

"You've come back to haunt me, haven't you?"

I cracked one eye and slowly opened the other. Daniel stood several feet away, shaking slightly.

"I didn't mean for it to happen, Vlad," he said quietly. "I didn't—didn't know what to do…."

I let him ramble on.

"I visited you almost every day," he said, desperation creeping into his voice. "I tried. I did everything. Sometimes I even talked to you. But you just kept sleeping."

I knew he had probably driven himself crazy, thinking he could have put me in a coma for the rest of my life. I knew, no matter how much he hated me, he would never have wished a massive head wound on me. Though I felt a smug sense of triumph at the apology, searching his face, I found it to be inadequate.

He was only a child; he wasn't worth my time. I couldn't remember any specific dreams from the hospital, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened while I was asleep. I had changed. I was a different man. Daniel's face was young and fresh, mine lined and stern. We were different, him and I, and I suddenly I had the strangest feeling that we belonged that way. We belonged to opposite sides.

I no longer cared about him.

* * *

**A/N:** Continued for You're-Not-So-Big. More introspectiveness. Review?


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